Tom Riddle sat in his small room. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. Tom was sitting on top of the grey blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book. However, Tom was not reading. He was thinking. Tom knew somebody was with Mrs Cole, probably talking about him. That's all people seemed to talk about recently. The rabbit was not his fault, even if he had wanted it to happen. Number one it was impossible to make an animal do what a person wishes, number two even if he had it was Billy Stubbs' fault. He shouldn't have done…that. He almost hoped the strange man was another psychiatrist come to talk to him. Maybe if he acted crazy they would take him away from this godforsaken place.
Mrs Cole came in and horribly mispronounced his name, as Tom could see by the look of humour on the man's face. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the man's eccentric appearance. There was a moments silence.
"How do you do, Tom?" asked the man, walking forwards holding out his hand. Tom hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. The man drew up the hard wooden chair beside Tom, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.
"I am Professor Dumbledore."
"'Professor'?" repeated Tom. Well, he hadn't actually thought they'd send him a doctor. He wasn't quite so sure about leaving to go to an asylum.
"Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you to have a look at me?" He was pointing at the door through which the vile woman had just left.
"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.
Tom didn't believe him. What kind of Professor was he, if not a doctor? Mrs Cole had really done it this time. He hated people who lied, so he did the only thing he could think of. He got together all of his confidence to say the next words.
"I don't believe you," he said. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" He made sure to speak the last three words with as much force as possible. It usually worked when he did, for it was quite intimidating to hear a command like that. Tom eyes widened as he glared at Dumbledore, who had made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. That had never happened before. Usually people started talking immediately, so much so it almost seemed against their will. Maybe he did need help. I mean, look at him, glaring at a man because he wasn't affected by something he wasn't sure was even real.
"Who are you?"
"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come."
This was just too much for Tom. He could take very little of the constant suspicion surrounding him and to have someone lie to him like this was just horrible. The Dumbledore man should just tell him 'you're crazy, so we're shipping you off to an asylum now' not tell him he was to go to a school. He hated liars. Tom leapt from the bad and backed away from Dumbledore, face clearly showing anger.
"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor', yes of course - well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!" Tom said ferociously. Okay, that wasn't entirely true, but he didn't know that he was hissing. He didn't know said hissing would attract all those snakes. And he certainly didn't know Amy and Dennis were terrified of snakes. All Tom wanted were friends, but weird stuff always happened or they were mean to him.
"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you -"
"I'd like to see them try," sneered Tom, being at intimidating as possible. It didn't work.
"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Tom's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities -" again, this was too much. To use euphemisms for insanity was just plain wrong.
"I'm not mad!"
"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."
There was a silence. Tom had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, trying to catch one of them lying.
"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.
"That's right," said Dumbledore.
"It's…it's magic, what I can do?"
"What is it that you can do?"
"All sorts," breathed Tom. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." Tom replied, remembering all that he had done throughout the years. Tom realized he made it sound as though he could control such things, thus making him more creepy than he really was, but he didn't care. If Dumbledore thought he was creepy, all the better. More people stayed away from him that way.
His legs were trembling. He stumbled forwards and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.
"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."
"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Tom intently. "You are a wizard." Tom lifted his head. His face was transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon, yet for some reason it did not make him better-looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher. Tom knew this, but he was so happy. He got to leave this place, and he got to learn magic. Which brought him to another point. Was Dumbledore also a wizard?
"Are you a wizard too?"
"Yes, I am."
"Prove it," said Tom, in the same tone he had used when he had said 'tell the truth', however this time he didn't know he had done it. He meant to say it softly, no more than a whisper.
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts -"
"Of course I am!" What a stupid question that was. Tom would take any chance he could to get out of this hellhole.
"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir'."
Tom felt his expression harden. Surely the man had known how exciting this was. It's not like he could remember his manners at a time like this, the single most important moment in his young life. Tom hadn't meant to cross the line. He hoped the Professor would still take him. To make up for his previous lapse in manners, he said just the way his teachers taught him, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me -?"
Tom was sure that whatever chance he had had at Dumbledore showing him magic now he had destroyed with the commanding tone his voice had immediately gone into. It was the only way he knew to get what he wanted; nobody around here listened to politeness. Though it's not like Dumbledore would understand that. Tom was brought out of his thoughts by Dumbledore taking out a long, thin, stick of wood from his pocket. He pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner and gave the stick a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Tom jumped to his feet and howled in shock and rage. Everything that ever meant anything to him was in there. How dare Dumbledore burn it. Tom turned toward Dumbledore, but the flames vanished and the wardrobe was completely undamaged. Okay, Tom had to admit that that was the most spectacular thing he had ever seen in his entire life.
"Where can I get one of them?" Tom asked pointing at the wand.
"All in good time," said Dumbledore, causing Tom to fight rolling his eyes. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe." And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. Tom knew, though he didn't know how, that it was Amy, Denis, and Billy's things he had taken after the…incident. Tom was frightened, not of what Dumbledore was going to do because of the stealing, but of the questions he was sure to ask. Questions of why he had taken the objects. Questions Tom was not ready to answer. Probably never would be.
"Open the door," said Dumbledore. Tom hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above the rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.
"Take it out," said Dumbledore. Tom took down the quaking box. This was starting to get seriously creepy. Tom wondered if he was in a nightmare.
"Is there anything that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore. Tom gave Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. He wanted to know how much about this Dumbledore knew. Always in favour of honesty, Tom was not going to lie about this.
"Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.
"Open it," said Dumbledore. Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents on to his bed without looking at them. He didn't wish to remember the events that caused him to stoop so low as to steal from his tormentors. Tom would've felt sorry for Amy, Denis, and Billy had they not done what that had. Tom knew what it felt like to have so few things, and understood how devastating it would be to have that taken away from him. However Amy, Denis, and Billy had taken things way too far, so this was the only way to ensure they were punished. Even if they deserved way more than what they got.
Tom didn't have to look down to know what the objects were; Billy's yo-yo, Amy's silver thimble, and Denis' tarnished mouth organ. Tom didn't have to look down to know they had stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.
"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting the stick back into his jacket. Tom was quickly losing respect for the man. He didn't even ask why Tom had stolen the objects. Not that Tom would've told him, but still, to know how little someone thought of him, even before they had gotten to know each other, did not feel good. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."
Tom did not feel remotely abashed; he was standing coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore, trying to figure out if Dumbledore knew what was going to happen to Tom when he went to Amy, Denis, and Billy with the stolen objects. Though now that Tom knew he was a wizard, he supposed his magic could protect him when something bad happened. So at last Tom replied in a colourless voice, "Yes, sir."
"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have - inadvertently, I am sure - been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic - yes, there is a Ministry - will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by out laws."
"Yes, sir," said Tom again, fighting back tears. There went his new means of defence. Tom made sure not to show Dumbledore this, he knew that when you showed weakness to another person, they exploited it. So his face remained blank as he put the stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."
"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spell books and so on second-hand, but -"
"Where do you buy spell books?" interrupted Tom, who had taken the money-bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold coin. As if Tom was going to be polite after what had just taken place.
In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything -"
"You're coming with me?" asked Tom, looking up. He really did not want to be in this man's presence longer than required.
"Certainly, if you -"
"I don't need you," said Tom. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley - sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye. He thought Dumbledore would insist accompanying him, as many adults usually do. After all, London wasn't a place for eleven year olds. Thankfully Dumbledore handed Tom the envelope containing his list of equipment, and, after telling Tom exactly how to get to a place called the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you - non-magical people, that is - will not. Ask for Tom the barman - easy enough to remember, as he shares you're name -"
Tom gave and irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly.
"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"
"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Tom, the lie not coming out easily. Tom, he knew, was the name of his father, the man who had left his mother to die, causing him to live here.
"Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."
"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.
"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Tom, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him. So - when I've got all my stuff - when do I come to this Hogwarts?"
"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," said Dumbledore. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there, too."
Tom nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Tom said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips - they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?" Tom didn't know why he said it. Maybe he just had to know if he was insane, or just different. Maybe he wanted to impress Dumbledore.
"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of." His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Tom's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.
"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."
Tom nodded once again. Oh, and Dumbledore, Amy, Denis, and Billy took more from me than I ever took from them.
